


Sleep

by Sonora



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Fix-It, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/pseuds/Sonora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Taylor's job to keep Christian safe, even if it's from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah, I know I'm as guilty as anyone about having a grumble over the existence of this movie. I wasn't actually really planning on writing anything, but...IDK. I guess this is my attempt to square the characters as presented with a better ending for them all. I see an Ana who takes back her life and a Christian who desperately needs help, but not necessarily hers.
> 
> (Or, where it makes Sonora feel better to think that Christian can rediscover BDSM with a kind and fair dom and accept himself for who he is and who he can be.)
> 
> Not tagging for the book because this isn't about the book. Do we really not have any fanfic of the movie on AO3 yet? Couldn't find the movie tag.

It isn't that Taylor hasn't been expecting the call. Far from it; he's been dreading it, but it's better than the other options available to him at this point.

"Jason, darling, I have somebody here I need you to collect."

He sighs, heading for his bedroom closet. Showing up in what he's got on isn't even a question. Adele has a strict dress code and he isn't about to disrespect her now. Not with his boss fucking around. "Nothing happened, did it?"

"Unfortunately, one of our attendants didn't check his email."

"I thought you had his ID flagged."

"We're not exactly the police."

He shucks off the jeans he's wearing, phone crammed between shoulder and ear. "You didn't call them, did you?"

"No, not yet. You know how I hate doing that."

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, reaching for his suit. "Hang onto him. I'll be there in twenty."

Taylor makes it in fifteen. Traffic's light, and he doesn't want to risk Christian wandering off on him. He's greeted at the door by the club owner herself, a serious woman in her late fifties, still as beautiful as the day he met her, business-like in her high-collared latex dress and impeccably coiffed silver hair. She's a legend in Seattle, the queen of the BDSM scene, and she has a particular hatred of bad doms.

Why Christian picked her club to fuck around in, Taylor has no idea.

Either the boy's lost all sense of reason, or he's begging to be put in line.

"It's good to see you again, Adele," Taylor says, holding out a hand.

She kisses his cheek. "You were always my favorite protege, Jason. That's the only reason the boy's not in custody."

"I know. I'm sorry. He must have slipped his detail tonight."

"I will insist it doesn't happen again," she says, her voice firm. When Adele speaks, she expects to be obeyed.

Taylor doesn't apologize for Christian.

It's the second girl he's sent to the hospital in as many weeks.

Sympathy, as far as the bodyguard is concerned, is out of the fucking question.

Snapping his boss out of this self-destructive spiral, on the other hand, is probably covered in his contract somewhere.

He finds the boy sulking in the club's office, one of the bouncers threatening from the door. 

"Good to see you, Miguel," Taylor says warmly, and the bouncer smiles back. 

"Haven't seen much of you around here lately, sir."

"I've been a little preoccupied," Taylor sighs, and nods at the glass window of the office, Christian staring back at him.

"I've made it real clear he's not welcome here anymore."

"As much as I appreciate that, there are a few other clubs in the area that might not be so careful."

"Adele's been making some calls. She's pissed."

"I couldn't tell," Taylor replies wryly, and taps on the window. Christian's eyes snap up to meet his; they're glazed. Dear lord, was the boy drinking? He had to have been. Has this Ana thing really hit him that hard? And Taylor can't help but feel guilty about it; he's been so worried about her that he hasn't been as careful about watching Christian's moods. God knows the boy doesn't deserve sympathy for abusing her trust, but something else is going on here.

It seems to him, in that moment, he's staring down at the calm surface of very deep and turbulent waters.

He makes a mental note to call a friend of his, a private investigator, in the morning.

"The girl hit the buzzer in the table before he could scar her up," the bouncer presses, and Adele waves him off.

"Enough, Miguel. Mr. Grey is Mr. Taylor's problem now," she says coolly, and digs her long, impeccably manicured nails into Taylor's arm, through the dark charcoal material of his suit. "Isn't that right, Jason my dear?"

He nods, averting his eyes. Taylor might be a dom, and a well-respected one, but Adele's word is law in their world. She's kept both the City Hall busybodies and the more extreme activists out of their world here, and for that alone, she's earned the deference she demands.

"Of course, ma'am. You won't see him here again."

Her nails dig a little deeper. "I am trusting that you'll take care of him."

"I will."

"Next time, I will press charges."

"I understand, ma'am," he says respectfully, seething inside, and taps on the glass, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Christian gets the message.

It's easier than Taylor anticipated, bundling the sodden boy down to the car and away from the club. For the first few blocks, he doesn't say anything. Just sips at the water bottle Taylor thrust into his hand, dribbling half of it down the front of his open shirt, eyes cast sullenly out at the city lights.

Then, a few blocks from their building.

"You told them about me."

"And you used a fake ID to get in there tonight," Taylor replies, adjusting the rear-view mirror to get a better look at his sodden lump of a boss. Total mess, face pale and eyes bloodshot, blood on the collar of his shirt and probably more under the disheveled sport coat. A far cry from the suave and sophisticated man of the world he plays at being. More like a drunken, debauched frat boy, the kind _Rolling Stone_ writes about. Taylor wonders, unkindly, if Ana would be so quick to plead his case if she could see him like this. 

But no matter. Ana's back home with her mother for a few weeks, hopefully eating regular meals and getting some sense talked back into her. Nothing like female family members to put a domineering boyfriend in context. God willing, she doesn't try to come back, thinking she can save him. As if that ever ends well.

"You know what you were doing."

"You had no right to..."

"Believe me, Christian, I wish I didn't have to."

That shuts him up for a moment. Then.

"You knew what my appetites are. We talked about it when I made you the job offer."

"Yes, I remember that well. And as I told you at the time, I have no problem with the community. But as you have made abundantly clear over the past few years, you have no intention of playing by the rules. I have a problem with that."

"You can't judge me for..."

"You aren't the one who took her the hospital," Taylor snaps back. He's in no mood for the usual bullshit tonight. _I didn't mean to take it that far... she agreed to it... she wanted me to hurt her._ Ana had reluctantly agreed to get checked out, just in case, after Taylor had found her weeping down in the parking garage, behind the wheel of that absurd car. 

She'd refused to tell the doctor who did the exam what had happened to her, though, which meant Taylor had had to step into the role of apologetic dom. Once, long ago, when he was starting out in the community, had accidentally pushed a sub past his limits; last week had been a hard reminder of that. 

Luckily, she hadn't sustained any major physical injury, but at the very least, the hour they'd spent at the uptown ER, waiting for the doctor as she shivered against his shoulder, both arms wrapped around his, had been just as necessary for her recovery. He wouldn't have felt right, leaving her to come down from all that alone. As he explained to her, there's no weakness in taking strength from others when you need it, no shame in accepting affection.

Why it hadn't registered with Christian yet, how wrong this all was, well, one of life's little mysteries. Perhaps he was being too protective of the boy, constantly cleaning up his messes, but at the same time, he wasn't left with much choice. 

Christian sucks air. "If she had just used her safe word... I would have stopped if she'd used her safe word."

Taylor resists the urge to grind his teeth. Oh yes, Ana had told him about that. She'd explained all about how they'd been doing things. Substituting the traffic lights for a genuine safe word, conflating the two rather than using both as self-reinforcing safeguards, had been irresponsible, to say the least. But then, Ana had never struck him as a true submissive. Shame this had been her introduction to this world, as warped and overbearing as it had been. 

Had it been him, dealing with a curious girl, he would have let her ease in. Come to a kink night with him, let her explore it at her own pace, in a controlled environment. Not shamed her into it, pressuring her into a lifestyle she clearly wasn't equipped for.

There was only one word for it, but Ana was refusing to press charges. In a way, Taylor could respect her resolve, her choice to own her decision rather than let herself be its victim. But at the same time, it didn't, shouldn't, couldn't excuse Christian's behavior.

The whole thing was a fucking disaster, really.

"You can't keep doing this."

"It's not your place to tell me what to do," Christian snaps. "I pay your salary, Taylor. Don't forget that."

"You're drunk right now, and you violated the trust of a woman I very much respect by hurting somebody in her club," Taylor replies levelly, adjusting the rear-view mirror to better see the back seat. "I think somebody telling you what to do is exactly what you need."

He doesn't miss the shiver that runs through the boy.

"What, you like that thought?"

"You're on very thin ice here, Taylor."

"Good thing I don't go out of my way to find pets too scared to say no."

Christian looks away, cheek on the glass of the Audi. "She left, you know. Her choice."

"I know. Good for her."

+++++

The boy's silent by the time Taylor gets him up to the penthouse, desperate snark traded for a less-than-stony disquiet. The security chief can't help but notice; the playroom doors, at the end of the hall, are open.

"What were you doing in there tonight?" he asks, tempering his rising anger with as much gentleness as he can. Christian's drunk, and recriminations aren't going to stick right now. In fact, Taylor's not sure what's even going on; he's never seen his boss in this kind of state.

"Got a few toys for...we left them, need to..."

"Give me the key," he orders.

"Why?"

"You know why."

Christian puts up surprisingly little fight, and Taylor takes him back to his real bedroom, leaves him on the rumpled bed, before heading back down there and firmly locking the doors. Tomorrow, he can have the boys think up a more permanent solution, but as far as he's concerned, Christian isn't allowed back in there. 

When he comes back, fully prepared to give his boss a firm but gentle piece of his mind, he's not prepared for the sight that greets him.

Namely, Christian curled up in the fetal position, face buried in a pillow. Shaking.

Taylor's known exactly who and what he was, from the first time his college boyfriend pressed a riding crop into his hand and asked him to make it _real_ , but he doesn't consider himself a sadist, either. Everyone he knows like that have always seemed a bit off to him. Not that he's got any right to judge, but he's nothing if not a student of human nature. 

Some people, he knows, hurt others because they were hurt first.

But those are all thoughts best left to another night, when his buddy does some digging, when Taylor's got facts to work with. For now, the problem is a bit more immediate. So, with a sigh, Taylor kicks off his shoes and settles down on the bed next to Christian. He doesn't speak, doesn't dare, just reaches over and pulls that alcohol-loose body into his lap. Christian sinks his face into the shoulder of Taylor's suit, holding on for dear life, and screams into the fabric.

Taylor's not sure how long they stay like that - fifteen minutes, from the last time he checks the clock, but it feels longer - before Christian's sobs finally subside, and the boy lifts his dazed face up.

"Feeling better?"

For a moment, Christian's expression wavers.

And then it hardens.

"Get out."

"I'm not leaving you like this."

"I said..."

"You're not giving the orders right now, Christian. You gave up the right to control this situation the second you walked into my friend's club."

"I..."

"I've worked with you for two years. It's my job to make sure you're safe. Do you trust me to do my job?"

Christian just stares at him. "Yes," he finally says, in a whisper.

"Good. Then this is what we're going to do. You are going to undress yourself, brush your teeth and wash your face. You're going to get the bottle of aspirin out of the cabinet in the bathroom and bring it to me. You'll take the dose I give you, get in bed and go to sleep. You understand?"

For a moment, all Christian does is stare.

Taylor softens. 

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Maybe you should."

"Control does not mean pain, Christian. Control does not mean cruelty."

The boy stares at him for a moment more, expression unreadable but terrible young, as if this is the first time in years tenderness has been extended, much less mentioned.

Taylor runs a hand across his boss' shoulder, rubs his knuckles across his cheek. It's a familiar, intimate gesture. Petting, really. He's always been fond of petting his bunnies, but never has it seemed so important before. _Aftercare,_ his mind supplies, and Taylor wonders again if Christian has ever received or supplied it.

"Go get ready for bed. Exactly as I've told you." Sometimes it's easier not to have choices. Sometimes it's easier to let somebody else make the hard decisions.

Christian bites his lip. For the first time since Taylor's known him, the arrogance is gone. Stripped, perhaps, by the alcohol, by the shock of being told _no_.

"Where will you be?" he asks quietly.

"Let me worry about that," Taylor murmurs, and strokes his cheek again. Christian's eyes are downcast, like he's waiting for something else, and Taylor's gut twists up. "Go," he adds softly. "I'll be right here."

Christian pulls back, blinking a little, and all but flees for the bathroom.

Taylor doesn't so much as loosen his tie. Not yet. For now, he just waits against the wall opposite the bed for Christian to re-emerge. It takes longer than it rightly should, but he's not going to pry.

Not tonight, anyway.

For Taylor has a plan coming together in his mind. The threads of it weaving into a workable pattern. He's not sure if he should offer it, though, if he's ready for that kind of commitment.

But he can't really ignore the problem any longer. Hell, he never should have ignored it in the first place.

Christian eventually comes back out, still in his briefs and undershirt. He's fading now, the combination of alcohol and sheer _realization_ draining the color from his face, the strength from his limbs. He doesn't protest as Taylor steps forward, takes the pill bottle and inspects him. Not a real inspection - not yet, perhaps not ever - but enough to see if he's done as told.

"There's blood stains on your hand," Taylor says, and turns Christian's palm up, touching the spot. "You agree?"

Christian looks away.

Taylor just takes him back into the bathroom.

He washes his boss' hands for him, scrubbing gently at the spot with a washcloth until it washes away down the drain. Leaning Christian back against the counter top, he reaches for a towel, and when he turns back around, Christian asks.

"What are you doing?"

Taylor shrugs, like he does this every day. "A good dominant takes care of his sub, Christian. I'm sorry you were never taught that."

"I'm not a sub," he protests, but there's no force behind it. 

"But playing at being a sadist isn't exactly working, now does it?" Taylor replies in his best no-bullshit tone, and finishes. He presses the hand towel into Christian's grasp. "Hang that up."

The boy doesn't even question the order.

He fills a glass and takes both it and the boy back out to the bedroom. Taylor gives Christian the water and double-checks the strength on the painkillers. Not that this isn't something Christian could do for himself, but Taylor doesn't even entertain the idea. That's not what the boy needs now.

"Eight hundred milligrams," he says, and drops four red-coated pills into Christian's hand. "Take it. It'll help with the hangover."

The boy looks up at him dully. "I don't need..."

"Take it," Taylor says and, without even waiting for Christian to do as he's told, sloughs out of his jacket.

He strips methodical, laying each piece of clothing neatly aside. Disorder is something he cannot abide in his daily life, and when it comes to playing, it's paramount to him. Taylor's always been of the mind that if a dom cannot control himself, he cannot control the situation, nor the play, nor his sub, and then what good is he?

Adele may have beat a few of those lessons into him, quite literally, but that is pain he's grateful for.

When he's bare, he crosses his arms and stares down at the bed. Christian hasn't moved, a mixture of confusion and fear and...and something else altogether in his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight," Taylor says.

And Christian nods once, and takes his pills.

He doesn't say anything, but after Taylor gets them both into bed and turns the lights off, the boy turns back into his shoulder, fingers curled against his chest, breath warm against his shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Taylor kisses his forehead, and tells him to go to sleep.


End file.
